


Conk

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22122487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Connor sleeps over.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 108





	Conk

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

There’s absolutely no reason Hank should be nervous for Connor to spend the night. It’s not like they haven’t spent the night together before on cases, out and about, which is different from being _alone in Hank’s house_ but not _that_ different. Hank’s grown more than used to Connor’s company. He’s downright _fond_ of it. He’s had Connor over for quick, fleeting trysts that seem both horribly _wrong_ and so _right_ at the same time. He told himself he’d never fall for an android. 

But he doesn’t want to wake up alone anymore. Not when he could be waking up to someone: a handsome, loving creature that doesn’t seem to care if Hank’s gotten old and fat and depressed. Connor’s seen the gun, the photograph, the dead Japanese maple, and he stills looks at Hank like they’re on an even playing field. He’s irritating, sure, but Hank’s impossible. 

Hank wanders out of the washroom in just his boxers and a stained shirt and wishes he actually had something nice to wear. He hasn’t bothered with pajamas in years. He could’ve at least picked out a shirt that wasn’t caked with dried mustard, but he’s not so good at forethought when it comes to his own well-being. He wonders if Connor will scold him for it and knows that Connor will definitely notice. Probably judge him. Connor’s waiting in the bedroom, right where Hank left him. He’s pulled his clothes back on, and he’s immaculate, right down to the last button and the tautness of his tie. It’s like they never crossed the line from professional to personal. The only thing different from the day they met is that Connor’s in white socks instead of shoes. 

Hank grunts, “I thought you were sleeping over.”

“I’ll shut down and run in low-power mode while you sleep, yes.”

“In _that_?”

Connor glances down, following Hank’s gesture, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary to see. He still frowns when he looks up again. “What would you have me wear? I don’t have any other clothes.”

Hank should’ve figured as much. Connor’s a ken doll that only comes with whatever he was wearing in the box. It occurs to Hank that he’s never seen Connor in anything else. While Hank just blankly stares at him, Connor loosens his tie. 

He unbuttons his collar and starts making his way down his shirt, one by one, exposing more and more of his tight, muscular, mouth-watering chest and all his creamy synthetic skin. Dry-mouthed already, Hank asks, “What are you doing?”

“The alternative is for me to be naked,” Connor answers simply, like it’s obvious. But it’s not. While Connor shrugs out of his jacket, Hank entertains the idea of lying next to a gorgeous, naked young man with a perfect, pliant body ready to go at any given time, and Hank knows he can’t do that. It’d be too _tempting_. He’d pull a Sumo and just start humping Connor for no reason, except he’d want _more_ , and Connor would probably give it to him, even though Hank’s about two fucks away from a heart attack. He can’t go all night, even though he’d like to. 

He also needs actual sleep. Connor scolds him about that all the time. But he’s not going to get any sleep when he’s busy fantasizing about the person in bed with him. That was already going to be a problem, but knowing Connor’s _naked_ will make it so much worse.

Just as Connor pulls his belt away, Hank snaps out of it and shuffles over to the drawers. He pulls out an old brown shirt and tosses it at Connor, who catches it with lightning-quick reflexes. He drapes the fabric over both arms and looks expectantly at Hank. 

“Well?” Hank grunts. “Put it on.”

Connor nods and obediently dons the t-shirt. He smoothes it down across his chest, though it’s much too broad for him and can’t be fixed. Then he shifts onto his feet and drops his pants, bending down to retrieve them and fold them. He brings all of his discarded clothes to a chair by the door and asks Hank, “Is this suitable?”

It’s not. Somehow, it’s even worse being naked, because Connor looks downright _adorable_ in Hank’s oversized shirt. Hank’s hand-me-downs. Any part of Hank on Connor is trouble. Hank’s doomed. 

But there’s really no making Connor _not_ cute, so Hank nods and tugs Connor to bed.


End file.
